


Abandoned

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Series: Whumptober 2019 [26]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Bad Parent John Winchester, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Children Shouldn't Have Guns, Dean Winchester Whump, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Gen, John Winchester Being an Asshole, POV Dean Winchester, Whumptober 2019, abandoned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 20:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21185822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Dean messes up while taking care of the guns, accidently endangering Sam, and John decides to punish him. (Takes place while the Winchesters are children.)





	Abandoned

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 26 of Whumptober 2019.  
Prompt: abandoned.

Dean huddled up against the side of the motel, hoping hugging his knees to his chest could keep his heat in. That didn’t seem to be working too well, so he shoved his hands under his armpits to stay warm. That was something Dad had taught him.

Dad. Thinking of him warranted him to mutter, “Fuck,” and he spat.

That’s what an eighth grader or something would do, right? A tough kid?

Dean was tough. He was!

It wasn’t his fault he’d left a bullet in one of Dad’s guns when cleaning it. And sure, he’d accidently pointed it at Sammy, which terrified him, made goosebumps rise up on his skin even without the cold. But he’d been trying to help Sammy with his math homework, he’d gotten overexcited, pointed the gun the wrong way before putting it down and rushing over, and that was it. And with Sam’s homework, he was on fractions.

Those stupid numbers. Why did they even need to be in three fourths, or one half? Why couldn’t they just stay whole?

And just before that he’d been on money. Dollars, and cents, and all that. Dean was good at that. But Dean couldn’t remember what his own homework was. Weird shapes? Long division? That stupid math with letters? Dad just kept dragging him away from school, and it was always with the _look out for Sammy, look out for Sammy, look out for Sammy,_ so he really didn’t know.

And English was fine. They were reading _Bridge to Terabithia_, and he really liked Leslie. He wished he had a Leslie. Maybe Sam could be his Leslie? Too bad he didn’t have a copy of it with him out here to read. But it was dark, that meant he’d need a flashlight.

It was too late for any of the other patrons to come out, maybe save him from this.

But if he was faced with it Dean didn’t know if he would want to be saved.

He was abandoned for the night for a reason.

He had made a mistake. Soldiers weren’t supposed to make mistakes, not in Dad’s army.

His stomach grumbled, the sound long and low, and the feeling uncomfortable, empty. He tucked his legs in even tighter, shifted about in the gravel.

At least this way Sammy got more food to eat.

Eventually it seemed to grow darker and darker. Dean comforted himself with the thought that he had been allowed a silver knife on him, and a container of salt. He eventually stood and went out to the back of the motel, knowing Dad would get angry if anyone saw him out there, if anyone grew suspicious, and then he went farther, out into the woods. There were a lot of woods where they were now. It was the near the east coast, and they’d been there for two weeks. Pennsylvania? Dean was trying to get better with geography, but the task was difficult when they kept jumping around. At least Sam knew his fifty states. Dean had known them, but once Sam did, Dean had slacked off.

There was a voice in his head that told him that yes, he did know them. He did know where they were, that they were even in central Pennsylvania, near the Appalachian Mountains and that there was more mountain ash trees in the area than farther east. There’d been rumors of mountain ash being good against werewolves, but Dad scoffed at the existence of werewolves.

That little voice told him a lot of things, but it was easier to tamp it down, especially if it had nothing to do with hunting, or Dad said it wasn’t important or was wrong.

And Dad didn’t like if Dean focused on school too much.

He ended up getting together a patch of leaves he could lay in under a low hanging branch, and after putting a salt circle around his makeshift bed, he settled down. He put more leaves on top of himself to stay warm, held his knife in his fist, and tried to drift off.

Dad had trained him to go to sleep just about anywhere, and even though he was cold, hungry, upset with himself, and his dad, upset that guns even existed for him to leave bullets in them, he managed to fall asleep.

Dean woke up with the sun shining, Dad brushing the leaves off, but he didn't pull him into his arms.

“You learn your lesson?”

Dean squinted at the bright light, but responded, “Yes, sir.”

“Alright, come on, inside, get yourself cleaned up.”

“Sammy, okay?” Dean asked, knowing his job.

“Yeah, Dean, Sammy’s just fine.”

His hair was ruffled, and he was let into the motel to have a shower and fix himself some cereal for breakfast.

Sam welcomed him with a big, teary hug.


End file.
